


Whistle Down the Moon

by coyotesuspect



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotesuspect/pseuds/coyotesuspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bittle needs a date. A girl date. Lardo volunteers, and Jack isn’t pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whistle Down the Moon

“My parents are in town,” announces Bittle. 

He’s standing in the middle of the common room, holding a pie close to his chest. It smells like blueberry. Jack doesn’t think he’s seen Bittle cook blueberry before. A part of him – two parts, really, the part that’s interested in Bittle and the part that’s interested in patterns – has been trying to figure out if there’s a correlation between Bittle’s moods and what kind of pie he’s baking. 

He wonders what blueberry means.

“Bro, swasome, I love your mom,” says Ransom. He flashes a quick thumbs up at Bittle and goes back to arguing with Holster about whatever video game it is they’re playing. Something with magic and women in questionable armor. 

“I’m just saying, man, you gotta ride the bull! You gotta ride the bull!” 

Ransom shoves Holster. “ _You_ ride him!”

“Not my mom,” says Bittle. “My parents.” 

He looks pained. 

“My _dad_.” 

A silence settles on the Haus. Not much is known about Bittle’s dad. He was captain of Bittle’s high school football team. He’s never been to a game; Bittle always says he can’t get off work to make the long drive. He’s… and that’s it. That’s the known world when it comes to Bittle’s dad. Until this moment, Jack wasn’t even sure Bittle’s parents were still together. And maybe they aren’t; maybe they’re one of those amicably divorced couples. 

“And, uh, I’ve kind of told him and my mom that I have a girlfriend.” 

“You _what_?” That from Shitty, Ransom, and Holster all at once. 

Bittle cringes. 

“I panicked!” he says. “Mom was asking me if I’d met someone special! And then Dad wanted to know if I’d finally gotten a girlfriend! And I said yes! And now they want to meet her!” He lets out a strangled noise; the pie gets perilously close to his chest. “Tonight! At dinner!” 

There is an even deeper silence. 

“I’ll do it,” says Lardo. She yawns and goes back to playing trivia crack on her phone. 

“You will?” says Bittle, eyes twinkling with gratitude. He jerks forward as if he were going to rush forward and hug Lardo and then, remembering the pie, stops himself. “Thank you! Thank you! I owe you – whatever you want! I’ll make whatever pie you want!” 

“Cool,” says Lardo. “I like that pudding kind? French silk?” 

Half of Bittle’s face twitches like he’s going to argue that French silk doesn’t qualify as a pie. But he’s apparently still too overcome by gratitude to dissent, so he just squeaks out an okay and backs into the kitchen. 

“Do you think that pie’s for his parents?” asks Holster. “Or….?” 

No one answers. 

Jack looks at Shitty, who isn’t looking at Lardo, who is still looking at her phone. But something passes between Lardo and Shitty anyway.

Someone has to say it. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” says Jack. 

“What? Eating Bitty’s parents’ pie?” 

Jack ignores Ransom. 

“It’ll be fine, O Dubious One,” drones Shitty. He’s sitting on the floor, back against the couch. Lardo has just swung one of her legs over his shoulder. 

Jack frowns. 

“And what’s going to happen when Bittle’s parents actually, you know, _think Lardo and Bittle are dating_?” 

Lardo squints at him. 

“Well. They’ll think we’re dating. And then they’ll go back to Georgia. And then Bitty’ll spend a couple weeks saying things are going okay. And then he’ll say we decided we work better as friends. Tada!”

Jack frowns harder. 

“Bittle shouldn’t lie to his parents,” he says. 

“It’s Bitty’s business, dude,” says Shitty. He narrows his eyes at Jack suspiciously, like he’s itching to ask him a question. 

Shitty’s not normally one to believe tact’s the better part of valor, so whatever it is he wants to ask, it’s going to be something personal. And not something’s Jack going to want to answer. 

Jack avoids Shitty’s look. What is Jack going to do anyway? Give a speech about standing up to your dad? About being proud of being yourself? Jack’s been an ass to Bittle in the past, but he’s not going to be a hypocrite. 

He walks into the kitchen.

Bittle’s at the sink, scrubbing at a mixing bowl. 

“Blueberry?” asks Jack, leaning against the counter and looking at Bittle. His hair’s starting to get longer again, curling at the ears and the back of his neck. 

“It’s my dad’s favorite,” says Bittle. He laughs nervously. 

“You’re bringing the pie to dinner?” He grabs a towel and the mixing bowl from Bittle and dries it. 

“Yes,” says Bittle. “No. I don’t know. I guess it would be weird to bring it to a restaurant.”

“Your parents could come over after…” says Jack. 

Bittle looks at him and laughs, a genuine laugh, even if it sounds a little incredulous. 

“God, can you imagine? No. Actually, I think my dad would like it. It would probably make him feel nostalgic. He was in a frat when he was in college. But. No. _No_.” 

Jack nods. 

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Uuuuh. That Italian place? Da Vinci’s?” Bittle hands Jack a spatula, and Jack dries that, too. 

“Oh. That’s a good restaurant.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Oh. Well, it’s… good.” 

“Good!” enthuses Bittle. He sighs and turns the faucet off. “I should start getting ready.”

“Wait,” says Jack. 

Bittle pauses. 

“You… What time is your dinner?” 

“Seven,” says Bittle, sounding confused. But he doesn’t press Jack on why he wants to know. Jack isn't sure he’d be able to answer if Bittle did ask. 

***

“Do you guys want to go out for dinner tonight?” asks Jack, _casually_ , when Bittle and Lardo are both safely out of the room. Bittle to bake more pies and Lardo to, as she put it, ‘find out if she actually owns a dress.’

“Dude,” says Shitty, “you want to crash Bitty’s date?” 

“ _What_? No! How did you – _no_! I just like Italian!”

Jack, not for the first time, wonders if Shitty is psychic. 

“You are a shit liar, Zimmermann,” scoffs Shitty. “But, yeah, if you’re paying.” 

“Jack’s paying for dinner?” asks Ransom. “Brah, I’m in!” 

“Samesies!” says Holster. “Drinks, too?” 

“No! No – ” Jack grits his teeth and breathes in deep through his nose. “I’m not paying for drinks, appetizers, or desserts. But I’ll pay for the entrées.” 

“ _Deal_.” 

***

Jack and the other three get a table across the room. At Jack’s request, there's a convenient line of sight between their table and Bittle’s and an even more convenient potted plant located along that line of sight. He can make out Bittle and his family through the plant’s fronds, so theoretically Bittle could do the same. But he’d have to know to _look_. 

Bittle’s dad is a square-shaped man with a hard jaw and an incongruous head of golden curls. He dwarfs both Bittle and his mother.

Bittle introduces his parents to Lardo, and she immediately says something that makes Mr. Bittle laugh. Jack frowns. Parents usually _like_ him. But he’s not very good at making them laugh. 

“You know he’s gay, right?” says Shitty, snapping his fingers in front of Jack’s face and redirecting his attention. “Get it fucking together, Zimmermann.” 

“What?” says Jack. “I mean – yes! I know! Of course I know!” 

“So why the fuck,” says Shitty, with soft, dangerous patience, “are you acting so fucking jealous?” 

“I am not jealous!” shouts Jack, loudly enough to draw the attention of people at the surrounding tables. But Bittle and his family are too far away to have heard the commotion, even if Jack can still make out Bittle’s too-bright laughter. Probably at something else Lardo said. 

“I’m just – I thought we should come in case Bittle needs our support.” 

“Bullshit,” coughs Ransom. He lets out another fake cough. “Fucking bullshit.” 

“Chicken,” adds Holster, with a cough of his own. 

“Bawk, bawk!” continues Ransom, with what is probably the weirdest fake cough Jack has ever heard. 

“There’s nothing to be jealous of!” hisses Jack. “Like Shitty said – Bittle’s gay. And I’m, I’m. Not.” 

“You know, you coulda volunteered to put on a dress and go,” points out Ransom, as if that would be a completely reasonable and sane thing to do. 

“Brah, can you imagine? Jack in a dress?” says Holster. “He’s got the butt and the legs for it, though.” 

“True, _true_. And we still got the dresses from the drag show. We totally coulda thrown something together.”

Jack hides behind his menu. He can feel his face heat up in embarrassment. Maybe he can ask the waiter to poison his food. 

The date, however, ends up being a total non-event. 

Every once in a while, Jack can make out a snatch of conversation or laughter from the other table. And, for the most part, the conversation at the Bittles’ table seems lively. It looks like Bittle gets along with his dad, which, Jack is surprised, comes as something as a relief to him. He cares about his friends, of course, but he’s not so sure why Bittle’s particular happiness has started to become so important to him.

It’s a bad line of thought. Jack’s not really comfortable with introspection, and he tends to overthink. 

He gets up halfway through the meal to splash water on his face. And, on the way out, runs into Mrs. Bittle exiting the ladies’ room.

“Oh, Jack! Honey!” Jack cringes and turns. “This is a surprise!” 

“Hello, Mrs. Bittle,” he says, wearing his best charming-the-interviewer smile. “I didn’t realize you and Bittle were going to be at this restaurant.” 

“Oh, really?” she says. She sounds amused. Jack cannot on earth fathom why. 

“Yes,” he says. He casts around for a plausible excuse and almost says he’s meeting an agent. But he’s noticed Bittle’s downcast looks whenever Jack’s future has come up. He’s not sure what the looks mean, but of all the lies Bittle’s mother might ferry back to her son, Jack doesn’t want it to be that one. 

“I just really love Italian,” he says. 

Mrs. Bittle seems to believe him about as much as Shitty did. But she is, at least, more polite about it. 

“Well, this is a good restaurant for it. How is your father doing?” 

“Good! He’s good! He asks about you!” 

She titters sweetly and winks at him. 

“Don’t go telling Mr. Bittle that. Wouldn’t want him getting jealous now, would we?” 

“No,” says Jack. He feels like his stomach is trying to escape up his spine. “We wouldn’t. How’s your dinner going?” 

“It’s lovely! Thank you, sweetie. That Larissa is quite, well. She’s something, all right. My husband is very taken.” 

“Yep. We love her. She’s a character.” 

This is what happens, he realizes, when Canadian politeness meets Southern. A never-ending storm of pleasantries.

“I heard you’re deciding what team to play for next year. That’s very exciting.” 

“Yes,” says Jack. 

“It’s all Eric talks about lately. ‘Providence isn’t that far from Samwell, Mom.’ ‘What if he ends up in California?’ Well, at least you’d finally be warm if you wound up in California. Get some sun.” 

“Sunshine is overrated,” manages Jack. 

Mrs. Bittle laughs. “You would say that. Poor boy.” 

“Mm,” says Jack. 

Mrs. Bittle finally seems to take pity on him. She glances back at her table. 

“They’ll be wondering if I fell into the toilet,” she says. “I should be getting back. You should stop by and meet Eric’s father!” 

Jack nods and smiles. 

“Sure. I’ll try. Great running into you,” he says, and means the last part, mostly. He does actually like Bittle’s mom. He’s just embarrassed.

Mrs. Bittle lingers for a second. 

“You know, when Eric said he’d found someone special, I can’t say I was expecting someone like Larissa, cute as she is.” 

She gives him a look full of meaning. 

Jack stares back at her blankly. He has no idea how to parse this. 

She sighs, then smiles brightly. 

“Lovely to see you as always, Jack. Good luck with everything.” 

“Yes,” says Jack mechanically. “Lovely to see you. Talk to you later.”

His plate is stripped of food by the time he finally sits back down. Ransom and Holster both point at the other, and Jack knows them well enough at this point to know they’re equally responsible. It doesn’t matter though; he’s lost his appetite.

The Bittles and Lardo are still eating, but Jack pulls out his wallet and waves down the waiter for the check. 

He has no idea why he thought this would be a good idea. 

***

That night, the Haus is silent for once. Maybe Jack’s mood has finally become powerful enough to control people. When they got back, Ransom had muttered something about a test and slunk off, and Holster had muttered something about Ransom and slunk off after him, and Shitty had just shaken his head slowly and walked away. The rest of the Haus must have caught the mood from the others – or Ransom and Holster had threatened death and humiliation if anyone made a noise– because no one else seems to be moving or talking or doing anything but breathing silently in their rooms. 

It feels pretty melancholy. Jack thinks maybe he should go to bed himself, but he doesn’t feel tired, just a familiar, uneasy buzzing. It’s not bad. Not bad enough to get worried over. But it makes his muscles tense, especially at the neck, and his stomach turn over, and it gets harder to tune out the constant, small, tugging siren of, _it could be so easy to calm down_. All six years has bought him is the knowledge that nothing really is so easy. 

He puts a favorite documentary on the TV and lets the soothing voice of Maggie Huculak wash over him. 

It’s past eleven when the door opens and Bittle sneaks into the Haus. 

“Hey,” says Jack, sitting up. “You’re, uh. You’re back late.”

Bittle freezes. He’s dressed for walking in the cold, scarf over his mouth and nose and hat tugged over his forehead. All Jack can really see are his eyes, wider than usual and vaguely forlorn. 

“You’re still up,” says Bittle, tugging his scarf down. “Not that, not that you shouldn’t be! It’s not that late! Not really! What are you watching?” 

“A documentary. About Canada. It has seventeen episodes.” 

“That’s a lot of episodes. About Canada!” Bittle pulls off his hat and scarf. He’s inching towards the staircase. “Not that there isn’t a lot of stuff to document about Canada! I’m sure it’s really interesting!”

“It’s my favorite documentary,” mutters Jack. 

“Cool!” says Bittle. He looks at Jack, pained, and wrings his hat and scarf in his hands. 

“You were at the restaurant. With my parents. Not with my parents, I mean. I was with my parents. But, you were at the same restaurant. My mom told me she ran into you.” 

Jack stares at him. He nods. 

“Why?” asks Bittle, very quietly, looking at the floor, at the coffee table, at the light fixture, at Jack’s knee. 

Jack struggles to come up with an adequate response. He’d come up with a couple vague lies – Shitty getting accepted into law school, blaming it all on Ransom and Holster’s over-protectiveness. But he’s not able to jam them into anything coherent. He’s not really sure he wants to lie to Bittle anyway. 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

But he does. 

He wanted to be Bittle’s date, he admits, finally, to himself. He wanted to be the one to make Bittle’s dad laugh and make Bittle feel supported. 

Bittle sighs loudly and crosses over to the couch. He flops onto it and stares upward at the ceiling. 

“It was so awkward,” he says. “I mean, Lardo was great. My dad _loved_ her. They argued about football and she challenged him to an arm wrestling match.” 

“Did she win?” asks Jack, after a pause. He doesn’t remember seeing an arm wrestling match. And he’d been watching pretty closely. 

“Dad took a rain check,” says Bittle. He lets out a horrified laugh. “Because he’s expecting to see her again, I think. He thinks we’re dating.” 

“Wasn’t that the point?” says Jack carefully. A small part of him crows, _I told you so!_ But, on top of being maliciously rude, he did not, in fact, tell _Bittle_ so. He didn’t say anything to Bittle about all this at all. 

“Yeah.” Bittle whimpers. “I guess. But. I hate lying to them. It just makes me feel…”

He trails off. He doesn’t really need to finish it. Jack’s got a gold star in lying to your parents and living in crippling fear of disappointing them. He wishes he were Shitty, who would know the right thing to say. Or Ransom or Holster, who would hug Bittle. Or Lardo who would punch him on the shoulder and tell him it would all work out. 

But he’s just Jack so, after a first, hesitant, aborted gesture, he manages to awkwardly pat Bittle on the knee. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“I think my mom knows,” whispers Bittle. “I’ve never told her. But I think she knows.”

Jack thinks back to his conversation with Bittle’s mom at the restaurant. A few things click. He thinks she knows, too. But that’s between Bittle and his mother. He nods supportively. 

“I don’t think, I think, my dad would still _love_ me, you know? But he’d be disappointed. And I’ve already – he’s actually proud of me playing hockey. He’s actually started watching hockey games. He never did that with ice-skating.” Bittle’s mouth twists. “Tonight, he said, ‘at least hockey’s an actual sport’. And I just… if I came out, I think I’d disappoint him all over again.” 

Jack takes this all in quietly, breath half-stuck in his throat. 

He’d looked it up, recently, how many professional male athletes were gay. There was one, in all of North America, who played for a major league, a soccer player out in California. Just one. 

He’s already Bob Zimmermann’s drug-addict son; he doesn’t want to be Bob Zimmermann’s _gay_ , drug-addict son. 

His parents are loving, tolerant, progressive. But he can already see his mom, eyes swimming with tears, if he ever told her. 

“ _Oh, Jack. But it’s hard. It’s already so hard for you. This would make it so much harder._ ” 

Shitty’s the only person he’s ever told, back when they were sophomores. Though he’s starting to think Ransom and Holster have picked up on it, or at least his crush on Bittle. 

“I feel like such a coward,” mumbles Bittle, pressing his hands against his eyes. 

Jack looks at him in surprise. Bittle has his fears – fear of checking not least among them. But Jack’s never thought of him as a coward. He’s been envious, actually, of Bittle’s self-possession, of his willingness to be only and absolutely Bittle – enthusiastic, pie-making, Beyonce-singing, frog-mothering Bittle. Jack’s spent his whole life running from himself. 

“You’re not a coward,” he says. 

Bittle laughs sadly, hands still covering his eyes. 

“I mean it,” says Jack. He aims for his captain voice – stern, no-nonsense, confident – but he lands somewhere a lot softer. And when he speaks next, he can barely get the words out from embarrassment. 

“You’re one of the bravest people I know.” 

Bittle drops his hands and looks at him. He squeaks. Jack thinks it’s supposed to be a laugh. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I’m not,” says Jack. He grins weakly. “You know how bad I am at jokes.”

Bittle squeaks again, and it sounds a little more like a laugh this time. Jack’s smile gains a little strength. 

“Thanks,” says Bittle. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

They sit quietly together for a moment. The documentary streams onward, through the search for the Northwest Passage, and Bittle seems totally engaged, despite the fact Jack’s watching the French-language production. 

And then Bittle takes a deep breath and shifts so he’s facing Jack. He puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder and leans in. 

“What are you doing?” asks Jack, stunned. His hands hover over Bittle’s hips. 

“Being brave,” says Bittle. He titters nervously. Their noses are very close. 

Bittle’s still cold from outside, giving off the clean, metallic smell of winter.

Jack takes a deep breath, and Bittle kisses him. 

Jack freezes. 

“Oh,” says Bittle, drawing back. He’s bright red. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought – ”

“No!” Jack jerks forward and grabs Bittle’s waist. 

Bittle stares at him. 

“Sorry – sorry, I wasn’t expecting it,” says Jack. He can feel himself turning bright red, too. He sends a prayer to whatever gods that exist that no one else in the Haus is here to witness this. 

“Of course you weren’t!” says Bittle, voice very high. “Why would you be expecting it? Why on earth would you – ”

Jack kisses him.

Bittle makes a surprised, muffled “mmmrf!?” noise, but he kisses back. 

Enthusiastically. 

“Wow,” says Jack, when they break away.

“Wow,” agrees Bittle dreamily, and Jack can’t help but laugh. Bittle looks totally star-struck, staring off into space. 

It’s cute. 

Jack touches Bittle’s face, and Bittle blushes more. It’s weird to touch someone like this – tender, full of intent. It’s not something Jack’s used to. It makes him feel, well, nice. Calm and focused and like he’s floating. All he has to worry about is Bittle and being happy with Bittle. 

“Hey. I’m sorry I crashed your date… and didn’t tell you,” he says. He grimaces, and mumbles the next words. “I was jealous.”

“You were _jealous_? You? Jack Laurent Zimmermann? Of – of Lardo?” Bittle laughs, loudly enough that Jack’s kind of worried someone will take that as an all clear sign and wander in and interrupt. “You know, you know I’m gay, right?” 

“Not – no. I mean, yes. I know. But.” It takes a little more courage than Jack knew he had to maintain eye-contact with Bittle through this. “I was jealous because I wanted to be your date.” 

Bittle smiles beatifically. 

“I didn’t know you were available to ask.” 

“Well.” Jack leans in and kisses Bittle softly. He grins. “Surprise.”

**Author's Note:**

> The documentary Jack watches is Canada: A People's History. I have not seen it, but it was the first thing that popped up when I googled "famous Canadian history documentaries." 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
